This is a fight thread between Beign of Massacro vs Amat of Republic over land currently claimed as Massacro

This is a 1 on 1 fight. Each side may bring one supporter and witness to the fight. This Supporter/Witness are only to watch and are not allowed to enter the fight at any time.

The marshland fight rules apply. Please make sure you have read over all rules regarding posting requirements on length, spelling and grammar. Please write your fight posts out as detailed and clear as possible. At anytime an organizer may lock the thread if a complaint is made that requires the thread to be reread. Unless an action by a fighter is deemed quite serious each SIDE/TEAM may be asked to make corrections to posts involving vague/hard to understand statements within the post, autos etc. These are individually determined by one or more organizers.

Each individual has the right to edit their fight post any time within FIVE HOURS from the time they posted it. Any editing of a post after five hours without the okay of an organizer is automatic loss.

A fight thread automatically ends when one character dies, when a thread has been up and active up to ten weeks, OR when one fighter on either side fails to post within a 10 day period.

SPECIAL TERM: Winner gets the chance to capture the loser of this fight.

This is a NO-CONSENT, meaning individuals may maim and/or kill without permission, may the best fighter(s) win!

Amat wandered into the arena that had been set for the fight. His heart ached to get on with the fight, but the fool from Massacro was not here. Frowning and unaware of the unpleasant expression on his face, he sent a quite prayer to the god, requesting that he hold with him through the battle. Prophets did what they had to do, and in this case, it was to kill. The blue wolf had a distaste to killing the innocent minds unaware of the path that the God offered, but this one downright denied it. There would be no remorse.

The sun was low in the sky, sending the last few rays along the soggy marsh, outlining everything in a pale yellow glow. It was a lightly wooded area, melting into a reedy meadow, in which Amat was standing. It was near the edge of Massacro's territory, and the perfect place for battle. Nothing could get in the way, unless the fighters pushed into the forest. Should he need to, the Prophet could run into the reeds, where his shorter height would be mostly concealed, and both of them could skip around, rustling the reeds in a game of cat and mouse. For now, though, Amat was out in the open and facing the forest, the most expected route for the blackblood to take.

He let out a horrifying screech of a howl to tell the alpha to hurry up. The God wasn't going to wait any more than Amat would. His tail was raised high, not afraid to show his dominance, which he was going to assert in this battle. That's all it was: ripping at each others throats until one person gave in, either physically or mentally. Yet some called it an art.

"Paravi. Tu habeo?"Translation: I have prepared. Have you?

This time he used a much more calm, soothing voice than the disgusting caw he sent out to summon Beign, or rather to have him arrive sooner. Like a little kid waiting for their best friend. Hopefully Beign was in distance to hear the question, whether or not he understood it. The fact that a voice rises while a question was being asked would offer itself up.

So this was it. One of his first acts as alpha would be to fight off a challenger. It hadn't been much longer than a week that Beign had filled this rank for the two wandering alphas. They had left him here, and there was no denying the bitterness that he felt toward them because recent turn of events. How could they do this to him? Was it a test? Were they actually watching him from the sidelines as he struggled to fill the void? Heaven knows the two of them were plenty aware of that sad state of his nose, that damn organ that refused to do as told. As long as his alphas were out of sight, they could certainly watch him without him ever catching on.

But they wouldn't do that. These were foolish thoughts. Forcing his insecurities to the back of his mind, the tall Blackblood resolved to face his current demon and face the others in due time. His upper lip quivered again, the growl continuing to resound deep within his muscular chest. The silver-tipped tail thrashed once behind him as he felt the anger rising up. It had been quite a while since he last was permitted to enter a good, bloody feud, quite a while indeed.

He was looking forward to this.

The Blackblood entered the scene, taking not the approach of the careful spy but instead the bold warrior. This was his way. Stalking in the shadows was the job of the hunter, or formally his own when he had been alpha Flamedeath's Agana Havard, personal bodyguard. But that was not the brute at this time. Now he was alpha, and war would be the way it had been long ago: forthcoming, bloody, and good.

"Paravi. Tu habeo?"

These words were foreign to him, but it did not aggravate the dark, grey male. The gaze, shadowed by surrounding black, was undisturbed, by the words, anyway. The reason that he was here, the fighting, that did not bother him either. It was a sport that he was used to, and he lost no sleep over it.

Tongue swiping across dry lips, he bared his teeth to his opposer in a wild, feral grin. A snarl ripped from the voluminous cavity of his chest as he threw himself into battle. Those dark eyes of his gleamed as they focused on their target. His silver-tinged ears swiveled about as they took in each and every sound that Amat produced. The thick tail thrashed again as he pushed himself forward.

A straightforward charge. It was an instinctual move that any creature might utilize, and its innate simplicity often prompted a sense of dislike from the fighter being charged upon. Many thought it so uncreative that the charger must certainly be of a dull mind; some go so far as to hate the charger for it. But Beign cared not for how this challenge viewed him. Amat was his opponent, nothing more complicated than that. Beign was going to charge him, and then, upon nearing a collision point--about a yard away give or take--the four-foot brute would dig his hind paws into the mud to slow his momentum. Now would be to react to whatever response Amat conjured.

Should Amat attempt to leap out of Beign's way--or have fled at any time during the charge--then Beign would in turn attempt to follow and snap with his jaws in his opponent's direction.

If Amat stood his ground, then Beign would life his forelegs as he slowed, but he would not eliminate the full of his speed. He would continue forward--one cannot stop on a dime in the mud--to fulfill the charge and try to knock his great weight into Amat in the hopes of jarring the other male, perhaps enough to send him flying or to at least knock him off-balance. But Beign wouldn't cease judging Amat's reactions. Should the other male at any time attempt to bite Beign in this scenario, then one of those forelegs, that previously mentioned had lifted off the ground, would strike at Amat's muzzle in the hopes of a smack to either close the jaws before they could make contact or stun the other male momentarily.

So the challenger was of good mind, not being disrespectful and trying to be sly and sneak along. Big wolves were never good with that anyways. This was going to be a good fight. Still, the blue wolf was confident he would win. Neither of them were true proelium, but both of them knew how to fight quite well. The anticipation gave him a shiver of excitement. Amat grew his own smile, yellow teeth showing in the grin that curled up into a snarl, and he let out his own. It was a good, hearty one, resounding of the God's voice rather than his own. It was thick and deep, yet ringing of a sick, horrible noise, and was interrupted by a horrible gravelly sound. It sounded as if he had almost started choking from trying too hard at who knows what, because it was hard to break your voice over a growl. Immediately he stopped, as he couldn't risk corrupting the God's growl like that again. He couldn't force it. Just let the God come when he would.

There was no such thing as playing fair when it came to battle. Everything was fair. That's the way you played the game. If you left out any of the ruthlessness, it was promised that you would lose. As well, there were no such things as plans. It was the most unpredictable beast that existed. You couldn't rely on anything. Knowing this, Amat was well prepared. Beign probably knew this too. Anyone who knew anything about fighting was aware that it was mostly an instinctual sport. If you practiced incorrectly, such foolish things as being able to predict everything or being able to actually plan things out as you went along would be imprinted in your minds, and you would fail.

However, the opponent knew how to fight. It was obvious that this was true as the much large wolf charged him. In that moment, Amat quickly drew a smile and turned his head to the side, then rapidly split that smirk into two as he threw his jaws apart from each other. He watched as the wolf skittered, then jumped right back at Amat again. As the Prophet was the shorter, he could possibly catch the other's throat in his mouth, as he threw himself up as the last second, just as they were about to collide.

If he had hit, then jaws would snap tight, hopefully crushing the windpipe, and depending on how far up with his jaws he had hit, then he would possibly sever an artery. The jugular and carotid artery were prime hitting spots, but were only hopes. He would have to have landed the perfect shot and had the very front of the enemy's throat at the back of his mouth. If he did just crush the windpipe, he would do his best to hold on until the large beast was knocked out from having the air sucked out of him. If he got shaken off, at least he had landed his first attack.

If he missed, of course he would be slammed back, but as he was hit while in the air, he would be shoved back a few yards, and would regain his footing quickly, hopping up from being flung onto his side. From there, he would assume a fighting stance, head low, paws fairly wide from each other. He couldn't get pushed again. Then he would run and then a couple feet away from Beign, launch himself at the face of the larger wolf, attempting to at least rip out an eye, or possibly slash with he teeth and tear off something.

This one would have been a valuable fighter, but he had denied the God. Maybe, just maybe, he could be hazed like the others. It was doubtful, but worth a shot. The gray male was a worthy challenger, but at the moment a great enemy.

Her father was gone and so was her aunt, both where off prancing around without a care in the world someplace else far away from the hardships of the marsh. However she had been left behind, she was still here forgotten about by the one she called father, to face the hardships with the rest of Massacro and, hardships where always just around the corner. This time it came in the form of a deranged, psycho idiot challenger that was talking some non sense about some stupid god and whatever else the morn could probably come up with.

Why did Massacro always have to deal with the crazies?

Unknown to the challenger and the new alpha Beign, the she crocodile watched from the shadows in the thick undergrowth of the marsh. Shadowscale was not to impressed about Massacro being challenged again, they always where even when there was other packs, prides, tribes, clans and, groups that where barely alive. No longer did they patrol their boarders, there was little life in them to put up a fight if someone claimed their land as their own. You would think that would be best option for an intelligent individual, least amount of work and the best chances of big gain yet, here they were fighting to keep what was theirs once again. Was it just her or did something not add up? Maybe this was because of a personal vendida that was hidden beneath the surface of the challenger.

Maybe, just maybe. Who knows.

Not that it mattered, Massacro would survive win or lose. Hell if she wanted to make sure of that, she would just wait for the challenger to step near before launching an ambush, she had always wondered what wolf meat tasted like, she had yet had the chance to try it. However, this was something Beign would have to do alone, the blackblood had alot to prove though not to her, she knew Beign had been the right pick for being alpha now that her father and Darkrage were gone. No the blackblood had to prove himself to the pack but more importantly to himself.

She would remain in the shadows watching in silence, cheering Beign on mentally and, if necessary to appear at the end of this fight. It all depended on who won and who lost at the end of all this, she might just keep in the shadows with neither fighter knowing she had ever witnessed their skirmish.

Coel, please acknowledge Beign's attack two, listed below. I'm bringing this to your attention because below it states that "Should the other male at any time attempt to bite" this attack would happen. Amat had went for the bite, therefore this must be acknowledged.

Attack 2: But Beign wouldn't cease judging Amat's reactions. Should the other male at any time attempt to bite Beign in this scenario, then one of those forelegs, that previously mentioned had lifted off the ground, would strike at Amat's muzzle in the hopes of a smack to either close the jaws before they could make contact or stun the other male momentarily

Yes, I read that attack. Since he turned his head sideways though, since it said to close them, I assumed that it wouldn't work. However, if you would like me to include it in my post, I will. I just assumed that it was as if Amat had leaped at him with his mouth open vertically, like at Beign's face from the front.

Understood, thanks for the clarification Coel. This fight may continue.

The challenger did not shy away fearfully as the behemoth thundered his way. Good. Beign had little patience for those who refused to stand and fight, especially those who instigated the fight in the first place. Running away would have meant that Beign would have had to give chase, and such tom foolery simply wasn't a thing of interest. Best to finish what you start, and as soon as possible. Get the first task over with and get moving on the second. You always had to keep moving. Stop, even for a moment, and your life would be swept out from under your paws, so the tall Blackblood had learned. Enemies only come calling when the calm sets in.

Not that Massacro was at a calm place now, or before this challenge even. The calm had just been starting to go away. The alpha pair had left, and they had put this brute Beign in charge, and he had told the pack, and change was on its way. Then this happened. Ended the calm for certain.

Just as Beign had ignored the two tones that this other male had when speaking, he too paid no attention to the growl, laugh, choke, or whatever one wished to call it. It fell upon deaf ears, silver-tipped ears that were more in tune to the squish of the mud beneath his opponent's paws and the air that whooshed around him as he moved. The confident smile upon Amat's visage drew no reaction from Beign either, but the turn of the head did. The smile reformed and became a smirk, and then the challenger's jaws parted. At this point, the distance between the two males was nearly entirely diminished, and Beign had just pushed his hind paws harder into the mud to slow him somewhat. His forelegs lifted. The two were nearly collision point. Amat had not lunged but merely continued to stand there, head turned, jaws spread wide. The larger male's fur prickled, his skin suddenly feeling irritated. Something was wrong, something he had not yet tried to counter.

He resolved that a strike would be the most appropriate reaction to this feeling that told him that all of his bases were not covered. Arching his neck and pulling in his chin toward his chest, Beign lifted higher one of his forelegs, and he flung the paw out quickly, hoping to smack his enemy beneath the chin. Should this attack succeed, then there would be a variety of consequences that may or may not occur. The jaws might be slammed shut. The smack might land hard enough against the windpipe to cause Amat to choke or make it difficult to breathe. Amat's head may be knocked off-course, upsetting the aim toward Beign's throat. And there are many other possible outcomes all relying on this strike to succeed.

Whether or not it landed, however, the two males were close enough that they reached a new point in this dangerous game: Amat was going to rise up as well. Just before they were about to collide, Amat threw himself up. Due to Beign's superior height and due to his chin being tucked in toward his chest, all but entirely hiding the target that was his throat, Amat would not reach Beign's trachea. Assuming Amat's jaws were still wide enough to land a blow, however, then his teeth would glance off of the chest instead of the original, now hidden, target and pull out some fur and scrape the skin just enough to draw blood. No greater than this would Beign's first wound of this battle be, for now the two males were to collide, and as Amat did not succeed in holding onto Beign, the smaller male would then be slammed back from the force of Beign's momentum hitting Amat's own.

Beign absorbed most of the energy, but some did cause him to stumble slightly, so as afore mentioned, one cannot entirely be at control while dancing in the mud that floored this marsh. Beign's hind paws dug into the muck, fore paws coming down to meet the earth again, and he would succeed in steadying himself. Amat was charging now, and Beign dug his black nails into the thicker, harder earth buried beneath the mud climbing his scarred legs. Baring his teeth, he faced the other male head-on, and he sank backward a few inches, supporting greater weight with his hind legs. Amat lunged with parted jaws, and Beign's own parted as well. He rotated his head slightly and aimed to bite at Amat's snout with his own. He was attempting to close his teeth around Amat's muzzle, if his jaw could open wider than the other male's, or at least bite Amat's nose. A nose was a delicate organ that could bleed and bleed and cause much pain. To sink his fangs into the other's male nose would bring Beign a surge of joy.

Should his own bite altogether miss, then Amat's teeth would slice long, thin gashes down the left side of Beign's face, right beside his eye. This would too close for comfort, and the string of attacks following would be sure to be brutal in their attempts.

The paw that swiped his chin knocked it a bit off course as he lifted it up, all this going on in that split second. It was lucky that the hit had come that sudden moment where he would turn his head for his own attack. It was obvious that he wasn't going to make the bull's eye. The error wasn't too bad, as it didn't make himself too vulnerable, but now the other was protected. No longer was his bite accurate, and Beign had recoiled, covering his neck, just by lucky chance. So instead of a direct hit, it was far off course, and he landed much lower, as he accordioned his body, instead having his back scrunch up, because he didn't want to get himself thrown off early by the head of his enemy. The slits caused by his fangs as he swept by the chest of his opponent were decent for a near miss, and drew blood. At least something went slightly right.

He was thrown the the ground a few feet away from his opponent, yet closer to shore, but not so far as to be stuck in mud. It was a bit mushier, but he had purposefully picked a place closer to the woods so that there would be no hindrances coming from squishy ground. However, for the heavier fighter, it could be much worse, and Amat was just unaware of this. Possibly another advantage for him that he was unaware of. If Being was stuck in mud, then Amat would just keep on with his speedy attacks. This one did not believe. There would only be so much mercy on those who refused to be helped. However, if it really was that mushy, Being could just back up some onto ground that would support him better. He should have expected as much, as this wolf was quite a few inches taller than he.

Getting up quickly, he launched the second attack he had planned. He took his own charge at his opponent, again having to leap due to the size of the gray male. The enemy was a talented fighter. Both fighters' jaws were open, and there was about to be impact, so Amat corkscrewed quickly to the left, trying to snap jaws around Beign's cheek, lower jaw one the inside of the widely opened mouth of the non believer, the top row of teeth outside as he went to try and slam them shut and rip through the flesh. If it had landed properly and as planned (which most things didn't) then he would have just escaped the teeth and would be just outside the row of his enemy's jaws. The speed and force in his leap should hopefully be enough to slice through some of it. However, he only had a split second for this, because then the blackblood would have Amat's lower jaw caught in his mouth.

If that was to happen, and Amat had not torn through, then he would thrash about, closing his jaws, and attempting again to rip away the cheek to provide a possible escape route. He would grind his teeth on whatever was grabbed if he needed to, be it tongue or gum, or actually the enemy's own teeth. If the pain was enough to get the newly crowned Massacro leader to release his grip, then that was even better. Pain was a powerful force. That would let him escape and with a bloody lower jaw where some of the flesh had been scraped away. Perhaps one day it would scar, and almost look like lip rings.

There was still the chance that the other had dodged entirely, and in that case he would fall flat on the ground on his side and trying to flip himself upright quickly, and hopefully before the monster sized wolf had a chance to make a move. Yet another disappointment. This game was unpredictable, and it was only a matter of time before the both of them became sore.

The strike of the paw did land, but it did not alter the chain events in too much of a dramatic way. True, Beign had succeeded in accounting for all attempts made against him. His mind was flickering through different possibilities for his reactions, and thus far, it seemed as if his choices had been well-made. He protected his neck from a blow that could have all too quickly ended a battle that had only just begun. And the smack did re-aim Amat's own strike, and instead of hitting those precious targets, the smaller male's jaws drew blood from Beign's chest. The tall Blackblood did not cry out or even so much as flinch. The wounds were not too serious, and he could hardly allow something so menial to distract him now. He needed to focus and put to work that legendary determination of his. He couldn't lose. Not now. Not after he and the rest of Massacro had gone through so much.

Gritting his teeth together, he faced the next stage of the fight with narrowed eyes. He growled before the two of them were to meet, jaw to jaw. His head rotated so that their noses were no longer lined up--else they probably would have bounced right off of each other--and sought to sink his left fang into Amat's nose, or hoped it would land there, in any case. He really just wanted to draw blood, more than anything else. Any damage whatsoever would be sufficient.

But Amat too was trying to counter the bumping of noses and tilted his head to his left, whereas Beign had tilted his toward the right, and the noses nearly lined up completely once again. However, as the smaller male lunged--meanwhile, the muscles of Beign's hind legs clenching to hold him steady in his position--their jaws interlocked. Amat's top jaw came down on Beign's, and Beign found his own clamping around Amat's lower jaw. He snarled as Amat's fangs sank into the tender skin on either side of his muzzle, but he had found a piece of Amat in his mouth, and so the angry snarl warped into a sinister, gargling cackle. Beign's lower jaw thrust forward, seeking to cause more pains to whatever wounds Amat would now have on the underside of his lower jaw due to Beign's teeth sinking in there. He tried to keep his upper jaw as still as possible, however, in the hopes of minimizing his own pain.

Warm blood oozed down either side of Beign's face, almost near enough to his eyes to look as if he were crying that crimson liquid. Assuming that Amat would try to pull his lower jaw from Beign's clutches, the alpha would growl as the challenge thrashed. If Amat's fangs withdrew from Beign's muzzle, the upper jaw loosening its hold so as it give the lower more leverage in freeing itself, then Beign's fangs would probably slice and make those scars mentioned in the above post, but Amat would be free again. Is Amat kept both jaws securely as they were but still tried to thrash and pull his lower jaw out, then Beign would clench his own jaws tighter together to try and keep his enemy from escaping. This would most likely cause more damage to both of them, Amat's tongue and the roof of Beign's mouth. But if Beign could keep his opponent from pulling away, then he would dig his left hind paw into the ground, and he would jerk his weight back suddenly, leaning slightly to his right. If he could pull Amat off-balance, then Beign might soon be able to follow through with a tackle or pin. If Amat stayed on his feet, then Beign would only work his hardest to keep his hold on the other male.

Holding onto that lower jaw was the priority at the moment. Losing that hold would mean that they were back at square one, save that both of them would be sporting some bloodied fur at this point.

A horrible, sick snarl began to curdle, and it sounded as if Beign was choking on something. Blood.

Amat was caught in the jaws of the opposing, and he was on top, his teeth already and unintentionally digging into Beign's skin. There was always a turn of events. Trying to predict anything would be futile. All you had to do was plan hits, and ones that could be safe in failure. So here he was, latched on the the bumbling wolf's top jaw, while the other was digging into his lower jaw. Of course, the other one's mouth was much bigger than his own, so the largest fangs were mostly out of the way, scraping alongside his jaw.

The beast thrust his lower jaw out, forcing the oracle's teeth backwards, sliding down Beign's muzzle. A stupid choice if he really wanted to keep his hold. It caused a brief yelp of pain and surprise, which he quickly silenced by clenching back down on the top jaw of the Massacro alpha. Blood was drawn, and he saw it run down the sides of the gray wolf's jaws. He also felt the warm stickiness from inside his own mouth, and tasted its tang. One of the heathen's top teeth had cut a small slice in his tongue. It would heal, but wouldn't make for pleasant eating any time soon.

The catch of the muzzle had stopped the jump, and with the brief jerk of that, he swung forward, and upon realization that it would happen, he pushed the swing more, in an attempt to kick his enemy's throat with a back leg. Hopefully it would force the leader to let go of him, or at least have a lack of breath for a moment, in which Amat would twist his lower jaw to the side, either wrenching it from Being's grasp, or slashing the roof of the mouth.

Now if Amat had escaped, he would immediately leap back into the fray, lunging for the throat right under Beign's head. If he could, he would stick his teeth in there like a leech, holding on and attempting to dig his fangs in deeper. He hoped again to hit the jugular as it ran up the side of his neck. If Beign pulled up after the hit, then Amat would go to thrashing, moving to tear away flesh and let the pleasant blood leak and soak the ground. This would run him out of energy faster, but it was pretty fail safe, and worth it if he hit any important veins or arteries.

If he had yet to escape, he would suddenly be jerked backwards by the heavier wolf, and probably accidentally slip out of the non believer's mouth, as their jaws were now closer to the edge of each other than when they first collided. If somehow they were still attached, then Amat would change plans upon being pulled off the ground, and would dig his fangs into the top jaw of his opponent, desperate to hold on. He used immense force, as he knew it would be near the end if he just let himself be thrown around by the larger wolf. If he had delivered the attack strongly enough, then he could possibly crush or fracture the bridge of the wolf's muzzle, which would cause enough pain in itself to at least let Amat go with a chance to get out of the way.

Should he still fall onto the ground, at the mercy of the demon wolf, he would roll to the side with incredible speed, eyes closed, still a bit shocked from being thrown onto the ground. Then he would get up, opening his eyes in a split second, locating the enemy before preparing himself for a next attack. If Being was already charging at him, he would cough up blood in his face, hopefully momentarily blinding his enemy so that he could go in, again leaping for the face to tear out an eye. He would be persistent. If Beign was away, then he would set himself in a good stance, and swallow the blood that had accumulated in his mouth. Now only very tasteful attacks were important. Blood was being spilled as each second ticked on.

The catch of the muzzle had stopped the jump, and with the brief jerk of that, he swung forward, and upon realization that it would happen, he forced it more, in an attempt to kick his enemy's throat. Hopefully it would force the leader to let go of him, or at least have a lack of breath for a moment, in which Amat would twist his lower jaw to the side, either wrenching it from Being's grasp, or slashing the roof of the mouth.

ooc: Could you explain this part? I didn't get what you meant about "he forced it more, in an attempt to kick his enemy's throat." It sounds like you're saying Amat it trying to kick at Beign's throat with a forepaw, but the "forced it more" bit confuses me.

The Marshland Team have discussed the concerns found and this is what we've decided.

A) Amat's kick to the throat is not possible without self inflicting damage due to giving up secure footing which would put a lot of pressure on Amat's lower jaw. So if you wish to use that move, you will to taking self damage.

B) We've decided that Amat's post is a little hard to decipher. We ask that she be more specific when it comes to acknowledging Beign's previous attacks. It's been hard to figure out what attacks are fully dodged, countered, hit, half hit. So we do ask that it is specificied and made more clearer.

Attacks Needing ClarificationAttack 2: If Amat's fangs withdrew from Beign's muzzle, the upper jaw loosening its hold so as it give the lower more leverage in freeing itself, then Beign's fangs would probably slice and make those scars mentioned in the above post, but Amat would be free again.Alternate Attack 2: Is Amat kept both jaws securely as they were but still tried to thrash and pull his lower jaw out, then Beign would clench his own jaws tighter together to try and keep his enemy from escaping.

Both can be countered if the swing kick still happens, however doing so will do self inflicting damage. So Amat needs to decide whether to continue the kick and take damage or change it and acknowledge these attacks in her post. I would also like to note that only one of these two attacks need acknowledged because they're Alternatives, which means if one thing happens=this happens; if another thing happens=then this happens in this place. Ect.

Attack 3 2/2: If he could pull Amat off-balance, then Beign might soon be able to follow through with a tackle or pin.

It's not really clear whether this was a full dodge, since Amat only stated that he rolled out of the way and coughed up blood. A specific clarifiation would be appreciated so we can understand if Amat is full blown dodging this or counter, I'm just unsure.

So as of now, Amat has 5 days to make the edits. It would also be helpful to let us know, whether by posting here or PMing one of us, when the edits have been made. Also bolding or quoting the edits does wonders for us as well, so it would be greatly appreciated. From there, the fight will continue as normal.